It is 4:20 pm in Seattle, and yes, there is a bowl of green stuff beside me.
Well, I was trying to have a quiet moment, since it was 4:20 and 9/11 and all that.
But now I"m disturbed.
Who the f--k calls me at 4:20, ever?
You know, my brother used to chew out his friends for calling him during baseball games.
Of all the times to call for absolutely no reason, why now? And why the hell are my roommates refusing to answer the phone. "Oh, it's Jason? Okay."
You know ... this is one of the problems in the US. It occurred to me that I did have the means to perform a little ritual because I actually felt like it for once! But no, that's not good enough. One of the reasons I hate rituals so much is because when you find one that has significance to you, there are always people trying to ruin it.
Rule number one: never call this house at 4:20 in the afternoon. Period.
I mean, shite--I don't go calling people on Sunday morning. Why not? It's a perfectly good time to call. But most of my friends are busy doing something that I don't want to interrupt--sleeping.
Never mind.
Higher knowledge can never be attained in the modern world because the guy that the phone call is actually for won't freaking answer it.
Seriously ... the only reason I'm dropping this bum trip on everyone is because if anybody ever asks why I'm the way I am, this is how it's been since I was a child.
There are times when I can do certain things with my brain. I'm very familiar with the processes. But strangely, any time I sit down to do it intentionally, someone always interrupts me. And when I was a kid, before drugs, if I was in the middle of nowhere, lying on my back staring at the clouds, as soon as I would slip into that Zen nowhere in which all seems to make sense, someone would appear out of nowhere, and usually for no reason--Hey. Uh ... what's up?
What's funny is that the first couple lines of this thread were written with a quiet smile on my face, intended for the 9/11 topic in this forum, and prepared to spill forth a small epiphany that was actually pretty cool to me. It's why I wanted to write for that topic; I was having an immediate insight toward what had been discussed.
Oh, well.
But seriously: it's like when you were a kid and your dreams started getting sexual. And then one day your mind tries to show you the full monty and someone wakes you up. But not for school. Not because it's time to get up. But for no f--king reason.
I try to be positive. I try to take a small moment of enjoyment every time I get on a bus because I didn't miss the bus. Sounds stupid, right? Well, guess what? Some people actually teach and insist on that kind of shit.
Seriously, I'm just furious about the fact that someone called me at just the wrong time. Maybe it's not his fault, but it's not like he doesn't know. And I don't get it with my roommates not answering the phone. I have a pregnant girlfriend and if there's a medical emergency, I won't know because the advent of caller ID somehow means that my roommates don't ever want to answer the phone. And it's not like they don't know what that particular time of the day means.
But it's like trying to be a writer. If I'm reading, someone needs me to stop. If I'm writing I'm wasting time. If I'm watching television because there's a well-written story to study, well, we need to watch Sportscenter.
What the fuck? I mean, I'm nearly fucking thirty and I still feel like a child because I have to ask people permission to watch the cable TV I pay for, my phone are calls screened against my will, and if there is a time of the day that you tell someone not to call, why do they always call then? (It took five seasons of "The Simpsons" to convince my mother to stop calling at 8:15 pm on Sunday night.)
I mean, come on: there's a joke that goes, Who needs sleep? I can sleep all I want when I'm dead. My epitaph will read: Aaah ... now you fuckers can quit bugging me.
Every once in a while, though, I think this is a human psychological quirk. I mean, think of it this way: Apparently people don't know about my own little rituals unless I announce them to the goddamn world. Maybe a newspaper article, some neon signs, and so forth. Yet, strangely (and I'm writing of issues other than Sciforums here) when I tell people that this is just one of those things, it's not good enough. Seriously, it feels like people intentionally act stupid in order to make you declare something that they can argue with. It really does feel that way. Like today, on the phone, the guy could apparently hear the frustration I failed to keep out of my voice. "Oh, am I interrupting something?" Yes, but don't worry. I'm quite sure it's not that important. To anyone.
Life is one thing, but I'm tired of merely being alive. I would like to be human someday. But for fuck's sake, what does it take to get that little bit of human respect?
But seriously, things are so bizarre that I've started noticing the most mundane positive events in my life, such as not missing the bus (even if I've intentionally gone out there thirty minutes early against the possibility of scheduling and route-time errors on Metro's part). I mean, think of that:
• In order to not become paranoid, I have to balance the consistent loss of significant events and moments with a plethora of mundane triumphs.
Like the other night, I strangely ran into a tree at full speed on foot. It was utterly bizarre. This does not upset me. But when I stop and think, No, the world isn't that weird. You're just angry and being paranoid to feel better. Look, you didn't run into a tree yesterday ....
I mean, really.
God, I'm pissed.
You know, for a whole fucking year I have felt almost no emotional response whatsoever to what happened in New York on 9.11.2001. The other night I was very close to having an emotional response. I was watching something only peripherally-related to the situation that, for once, was sorrow for my beleaguered American neighbors. I felt badly not only for the dead but for the frightened. For once, I wasn't merely resigned (It had to happen sometime) to the situation or angry at the Bush administration for its epidemically poor response to the situation. I think the moment might have come while watching Colin Powell being booed in Johannesburg. Don't ask me to explain the rest. You know what interrupted me? The girlfriend. Pregnancy problem? Nope. Good or bad news of any kind? Nope. She just wanted to say hi and talk about how cool she was in front of a bunch of people at work that day, and I get to hear that story every day.
One of my friends thinks she actually calculates those moments. I try not to let him feed the verge of paranoia. But the problem is that his theory makes her out to be smarter than she is. She's bright about some things, but she wears a lack of personal integrity like a proud harlot with the scarlet A. Bottom line ... it's nice to know I'm not the only one who sees it, but this is also the same friend who doesn't give a fuck what he's interrupting when he abducted me (I could, if I wanted, make that stand in court) simply because he didn't want me going over to see the woman who is carrying my child.
The human mind is capable of so much more than merely mundane bullshit.
So I will say it publicly for the first time: Why won't they leave me alone?
• "We want you to be a writer. A good one. A successful one. Now, please do anything with your life that has nothing to do with writing or we'll get in your way."
• "Don't show emotion. Emotionalism is for the stupid and the weak. What? Somebody bombed our city? Why aren't you showing any emotion?"
On my own, when I was twelve, I made a bizarre decision: I will not be shocked by anything human beings do. I can't remember the impetus, though I think it had to do with a deliberate reconstruction of personality.
It worked. Now I'm 29, and it really does feel like every time I have an emotion, I get interrupted.
Drugs? A few. Feelings? Artificial, contrived. Where's the novel? Well, duh.
Truth is stranger than fiction. Yet if I successfully wrote the story of what a human being truly is, nobody would buy it. It would be the most boring story ever told.
I'll stop now. I had a spontaneous emotional response to my own frustrations. Now I have a hangover.
Drugs? Definitely.
Comfortably numb? Coming up.
I really hope you haven't read this far,
Tiassa
Well, I was trying to have a quiet moment, since it was 4:20 and 9/11 and all that.
But now I"m disturbed.
Who the f--k calls me at 4:20, ever?
You know, my brother used to chew out his friends for calling him during baseball games.
Of all the times to call for absolutely no reason, why now? And why the hell are my roommates refusing to answer the phone. "Oh, it's Jason? Okay."
You know ... this is one of the problems in the US. It occurred to me that I did have the means to perform a little ritual because I actually felt like it for once! But no, that's not good enough. One of the reasons I hate rituals so much is because when you find one that has significance to you, there are always people trying to ruin it.
Rule number one: never call this house at 4:20 in the afternoon. Period.
I mean, shite--I don't go calling people on Sunday morning. Why not? It's a perfectly good time to call. But most of my friends are busy doing something that I don't want to interrupt--sleeping.
Never mind.
Higher knowledge can never be attained in the modern world because the guy that the phone call is actually for won't freaking answer it.
Seriously ... the only reason I'm dropping this bum trip on everyone is because if anybody ever asks why I'm the way I am, this is how it's been since I was a child.
There are times when I can do certain things with my brain. I'm very familiar with the processes. But strangely, any time I sit down to do it intentionally, someone always interrupts me. And when I was a kid, before drugs, if I was in the middle of nowhere, lying on my back staring at the clouds, as soon as I would slip into that Zen nowhere in which all seems to make sense, someone would appear out of nowhere, and usually for no reason--Hey. Uh ... what's up?
What's funny is that the first couple lines of this thread were written with a quiet smile on my face, intended for the 9/11 topic in this forum, and prepared to spill forth a small epiphany that was actually pretty cool to me. It's why I wanted to write for that topic; I was having an immediate insight toward what had been discussed.
Oh, well.
But seriously: it's like when you were a kid and your dreams started getting sexual. And then one day your mind tries to show you the full monty and someone wakes you up. But not for school. Not because it's time to get up. But for no f--king reason.
I try to be positive. I try to take a small moment of enjoyment every time I get on a bus because I didn't miss the bus. Sounds stupid, right? Well, guess what? Some people actually teach and insist on that kind of shit.
Seriously, I'm just furious about the fact that someone called me at just the wrong time. Maybe it's not his fault, but it's not like he doesn't know. And I don't get it with my roommates not answering the phone. I have a pregnant girlfriend and if there's a medical emergency, I won't know because the advent of caller ID somehow means that my roommates don't ever want to answer the phone. And it's not like they don't know what that particular time of the day means.
But it's like trying to be a writer. If I'm reading, someone needs me to stop. If I'm writing I'm wasting time. If I'm watching television because there's a well-written story to study, well, we need to watch Sportscenter.
What the fuck? I mean, I'm nearly fucking thirty and I still feel like a child because I have to ask people permission to watch the cable TV I pay for, my phone are calls screened against my will, and if there is a time of the day that you tell someone not to call, why do they always call then? (It took five seasons of "The Simpsons" to convince my mother to stop calling at 8:15 pm on Sunday night.)
I mean, come on: there's a joke that goes, Who needs sleep? I can sleep all I want when I'm dead. My epitaph will read: Aaah ... now you fuckers can quit bugging me.
Every once in a while, though, I think this is a human psychological quirk. I mean, think of it this way: Apparently people don't know about my own little rituals unless I announce them to the goddamn world. Maybe a newspaper article, some neon signs, and so forth. Yet, strangely (and I'm writing of issues other than Sciforums here) when I tell people that this is just one of those things, it's not good enough. Seriously, it feels like people intentionally act stupid in order to make you declare something that they can argue with. It really does feel that way. Like today, on the phone, the guy could apparently hear the frustration I failed to keep out of my voice. "Oh, am I interrupting something?" Yes, but don't worry. I'm quite sure it's not that important. To anyone.
Life is one thing, but I'm tired of merely being alive. I would like to be human someday. But for fuck's sake, what does it take to get that little bit of human respect?
But seriously, things are so bizarre that I've started noticing the most mundane positive events in my life, such as not missing the bus (even if I've intentionally gone out there thirty minutes early against the possibility of scheduling and route-time errors on Metro's part). I mean, think of that:
• In order to not become paranoid, I have to balance the consistent loss of significant events and moments with a plethora of mundane triumphs.
Like the other night, I strangely ran into a tree at full speed on foot. It was utterly bizarre. This does not upset me. But when I stop and think, No, the world isn't that weird. You're just angry and being paranoid to feel better. Look, you didn't run into a tree yesterday ....
I mean, really.
God, I'm pissed.
You know, for a whole fucking year I have felt almost no emotional response whatsoever to what happened in New York on 9.11.2001. The other night I was very close to having an emotional response. I was watching something only peripherally-related to the situation that, for once, was sorrow for my beleaguered American neighbors. I felt badly not only for the dead but for the frightened. For once, I wasn't merely resigned (It had to happen sometime) to the situation or angry at the Bush administration for its epidemically poor response to the situation. I think the moment might have come while watching Colin Powell being booed in Johannesburg. Don't ask me to explain the rest. You know what interrupted me? The girlfriend. Pregnancy problem? Nope. Good or bad news of any kind? Nope. She just wanted to say hi and talk about how cool she was in front of a bunch of people at work that day, and I get to hear that story every day.
One of my friends thinks she actually calculates those moments. I try not to let him feed the verge of paranoia. But the problem is that his theory makes her out to be smarter than she is. She's bright about some things, but she wears a lack of personal integrity like a proud harlot with the scarlet A. Bottom line ... it's nice to know I'm not the only one who sees it, but this is also the same friend who doesn't give a fuck what he's interrupting when he abducted me (I could, if I wanted, make that stand in court) simply because he didn't want me going over to see the woman who is carrying my child.
The human mind is capable of so much more than merely mundane bullshit.
So I will say it publicly for the first time: Why won't they leave me alone?
• "We want you to be a writer. A good one. A successful one. Now, please do anything with your life that has nothing to do with writing or we'll get in your way."
• "Don't show emotion. Emotionalism is for the stupid and the weak. What? Somebody bombed our city? Why aren't you showing any emotion?"
On my own, when I was twelve, I made a bizarre decision: I will not be shocked by anything human beings do. I can't remember the impetus, though I think it had to do with a deliberate reconstruction of personality.
It worked. Now I'm 29, and it really does feel like every time I have an emotion, I get interrupted.
Drugs? A few. Feelings? Artificial, contrived. Where's the novel? Well, duh.
Truth is stranger than fiction. Yet if I successfully wrote the story of what a human being truly is, nobody would buy it. It would be the most boring story ever told.
I'll stop now. I had a spontaneous emotional response to my own frustrations. Now I have a hangover.
Drugs? Definitely.
Comfortably numb? Coming up.
I really hope you haven't read this far,
Tiassa
